


A Handful Of Scattered Feathers

by LadyNyoko



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Griffon Age
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-21 11:50:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/899985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyNyoko/pseuds/LadyNyoko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A compilation of all I've written for the Griffon Age AU created by LadyZolstice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Freedom

It isn't until a month after the battle on Fort Drakon that Faron is properly introduced to Fereldan's pride. He hadn't even considered trying to track them down sooner between the mess of trying to unite the country against the darkspawn, even with Donovan generally making himself very much known in the camp and getting into playfights with Rhîn that always end up being broken up for the safety of everyone, lest Morrigan hex the lot of them.

Altogether it takes them nearly a month to track the pride down - even  _with_ the young griffon's help.

Loghain's war against the Wardens had scattered them very quickly, and only when word has traveled after the Landsmeet and the death of Urthemiel do they start to reappear. The sightings are scattered at first, and for the first few weeks Faron's absolutely certain the griffons are  _playing_ with them in some way. It isn't until the end of the month when, exhausted from the search and with Alistair and Donovan searching in another direction, he realizes that's exactly what they're doing.

He'd given up the chase for the day and was getting ready to set up camp when he felt something very small collide very  _solidly_ with his calf before winding between his legs. He'd looked down and she'd looked up, all big brown eyes and her feathers all fluffed out and looking very pleased with herself and he'd just  _known_. She'd picked him from afar and spent the night curled against him, purring contently.

The next morning Alistair had returned and she set right into pestering Donovan, pecking at the tip of his tail before racing to hide behind Faron's legs. She'd stayed at his side all throughout the week while they convinced the rest of the pride there was no reason to hide.

(Alistair had remarked it was unusual for a griffon so young to pick a Warden - most tended to have their hatchling coats shed, but she was still a downy little thing full of energy and firmly attached to his side.)

In the end, he called her Da'enansal - little blessing.

She was daring in the best ways with a thirst for adventure and exploration that mirrored his own, but on most nights she was content to lay with her loved ones and sneak the occasional extra treat out of her partner's eye. The first time she met Zevran the following year she'd snapped at his fingers before pushing him very firmly to the ground and laying on him.

Faron had laughed until his chest hurt, and she'd just looked so proud of herself for letting her partner's lover know  _exactly_ who was in charge.

It was longer before she was grown enough to fly with.

The older Wardens cautioned him against it even when he felt she was ready - she was a slip of a thing, long and lean and a menace in the air. But he'd mounted her with no fear, burying his hands in her ruff and his nose in the short feathers on her crown and told her to go.

She'd taken him up and up and up before she tucked her wings against her sides and just  _dove_. The wind had whistled in his ears and his heart had pounded, but when she'd snapped her wings open and come out of the dive her own shriek of triumph had been echoed by his own.

Together they were whole.

Together they were  _free_.


	2. Bit By Bit

There's a whole list of things Faron has to learn about caring for Da'enansal. She's only just old enough to pick a partner when she chooses him, and compared to Donovan she's more than a handful.

More often than not he's making sure she doesn't go poking her head into any of their traveling packs, although after the second time she does it he learns that if he lets her watch while they pack everything she isn't all that interested in its contents. She always begs for scraps even when she's had plenty to eat - a trait common among other falcon-types, he learns. He has to have a mind to ensure she doesn't overeat, and once he figures out just how much she needs it becomes easier.

In her youth, a pair of pigeons or quail are typically enough for the day, although he'll occasionally allow her a small hare as a treat. As an adult he learns she'll move up to much larger kills - plump chickens, ducks, and turkeys, although she won't need to eat as often unless they're expected to be in battle.

He makes a habit out of checking her feet when she's draped across his lap at night, ensuring her talons aren't too long and there are no sores that need tending too. The first time he does this nightly check she wiggles and squirms, chirruping at him curiously until he calmly explains what he's doing. She does it throughout the first week before settling down and accepting it as being part of the nightly routine.

She sleeps pressed against his chest, her feathery head tucked as close to his heart as she can possibly get it. The position becomes less comfortable as she grows, but he doesn't have the heart to tell her to move - not when the feel of her chest rising and falling against his gives him just as much comfort.

The first night with Zevran is the hardest - he's a part of Faron's life that she's only just discovered and although she makes it known very firmly just where  _she_  stands, she still eyes him warily. He's expecting to need to banish his lover to another tent until she adjusts to having him around, but that night she curls against his chest and then lifts her head to look at the other elf expectantly.

Zevran settles down against his back and she leans forward to give his fingers a light nibble before tucking her head back into place with a deep sigh and Faron just knows everything is going to be alright.

By the following year they've settled into a routine - Da'enansal won't relinquish her spot against his chest but she'll sometimes allow Zevran to take the spot at her back, leaving her wedged between the two of them. Once or twice in the very early hours of the morning he catches her preening his hair, running the tip of her beak through the strands before settling them back into place. She's large enough that whole poultry has become her regular meals, and while he still checks her feet he's less worried he might find something unexpected there.

She still loves traveling with him as much as ever, and she's taken to Zevran almost as quickly as he had - although she still occasionally reminds him just who's in charge between the two of them.

It's a good life, Faron thinks. Even if he only has thirty more years, the way things are now he knows he can look back and say he's content. He thinks Wynne would be happy to hear that as would his clan, but he tells himself he'll let them know another day.


	3. The Blame Is Only Mine

When Merrill asks Anders if he's ever met a Warden named Mahariel, he tells her not to get her hopes up. That the Hero of Fereldan values privacy rather highly. As the years in Kirkwall go by, he considers setting the record straight, but he can never find the words.

There is history there. A history that he carries on his shoulders every day, that in the heat of reckless youth and grief he had blamed entirely on the Warden-Commander. (Former Warden-Commander, he needs to remind himself.)

He cracks jokes when asked why he left the Wardens because the truth is too painful to admit. He calls Ser Pounce his cat and says the Wardens made him get rid of him. And if there were ever a more blatant lie, he hasn't heard one.

The truth is Ser Pounce was his griffon.

Looking back, he was surprised he'd even been picked by one. He'd been selfish and immature, resentful of the Circle and eager to escape without fully understanding just what his escape really meant. He hadn't exactly been in any state to enter in such an important partnership, but he'd found a partner and he'd loved the noble beast as much as he'd been able.

Ser Pounce had worn his name with pride, and had gotten on remarkably well with the other griffons that joined the order. And whether it was the Wending Wood, the Blackmarsh, or Kal'Hirol he'd stayed by his partner's side and protected him with a viciousness that surprised Anders.

He hadn't considered, descending into the Dragon Bone Wastes and moving through Drake's Fall and into the Mother's lair that the reverse might also need to be done.

It was his own stupidity that ended Ser Pounce.

He'd been focused so much on the other Wardens and their partners, so accustomed to being shielded from the worst of the danger, that he hadn't noticed the Childer making its way towards them until it was upon Ser Pounce. He wishes more than anything that it had been quick.

(The screams haunt his nightmares still, moreso than the nightmares brought on by the taint.)

He'd blamed Mahariel for the loss. Surely the Hero of Fereldan should have seen the danger - picked it off before anyone got hurt. He knows now how wrong he was. Mahariel had done his best, just as they all had. He should have been paying closer attention. If he had, maybe Ser Pounce would still be with him. Maybe he'd still be with the Wardens.

But it was too late to change things now. His partner's blood was on his hands, and nothing he could do could cleanse them.


End file.
